


War

by sheepybeepy



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Character Death, Nazi Germany, Soviet Union, War, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:09:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29904357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheepybeepy/pseuds/sheepybeepy
Summary: Mom.Dad.He's having a nightmare, please, help him.It's dark, he wants to sleep in their bed tonight. He wants to hide underneath the covers and feel their warmth.But there was no warmth from Mom and Dad here.
Kudos: 1





	War

**Author's Note:**

> Heavy themes ahead.

The boy gasped for breath in a wet gulp, his feet dragging along in the snow. His throat was burning, begging for water, but there was none around to satisfy the thirst. He could taste the salty feeling of his tongue. He'd gotten separated, lost from his group, and he was left alone to walk through this desolate battlefield.

He eyed the snow. It was tempting, but he knew it took pounds of it to equate to just one quart. How much was it to get to a gallon? Over twelve pounds he believed.

The boy's ears were perked at all times, listening quietly, intently, trying to hear any form of life. If there was any, he'd have to duck down, or shoot, or do anything to hide. He wasn't in safe territory. He was in danger. The world around him was spiteful, and dangerous, and it was wanting to kill him.

He bit his lip and gasped for breath, the cold air stinging his lungs like weak saltwater. Tears would pour if there were any to fall. His helmet was off, it had fallen long ago and he knew that if he had knelt down to grab it, he would've fallen down, and wouldn't have gotten back up. He would've died in the snow, like so many others. He could vividly remember how they all looked, their pale faces, their thin bodies...

The boy shook his head. Now was not the time for remembering the dead. It was a likely possibility to the point it was a certainty he would be one with them.

He wondered briefly what would await him on the other side. The golden shimmering gates of Heaven above, walking on clouds as he glanced around the beauty? Every house perfectly fit to whatever they would desire? Women aplenty, with one to love in his arms as he rocked her back and forth?

Or would he plummet to Hell, met with lashing whips of fire and cold stone to sleep on if he was even allowed that? Would dehydration and starvation be his daily fate, to the point that it was all he would be able to remember, no view of the previous life he had lived in his sight? Would he suffer for all eternity?

The blond boy's face went pale at the thought and with a whimper, shook his head, similar to a dog trying to rid itself of fleas or water. He did not want to think of that idea. Yet, it continued to persist, almost if worse. The blond had to mutter "no" to himself, though it stung his throat and he physically cringed.

Something else, he must think of something else. Something aside from eternal damnation.

Such as...where was he?

The boy's blue eyes that felt dry and wet at the same time glanced around the world. There were long, still leaved trees, though they weren't like the ones that changed color back at home. He couldn't remember what they were called, so he didn't even bother plaguing his mind with something he'd never be able to remember.

A cold, hesitant hand reached up and touched one of the branches. He couldn't feel it, and glancing down to his fingers, he noted how stiff they felt as he clenched and unclenched his fist. The boy frowned. He needed heat and fast.

He was in the Soviet Union, Russia, a cold hell, whatever anyone wanted to call it, he was there, stalking through the cold world. He was a shivering mess, wanting nothing but to go home and be wrapped in a blanket, nuzzled up by his mother and father and sat by the fire.

Mother.

Father.

The boy felt himself sniffle, but not from the cold.

He missed them. He wanted them back. He didn't care if they were strict or not anymore, he just wanted to be in their embrace and away from this messed up, hellish war he was in. This land was like a freezing cold, fucked-up nightmare that even Satan himself couldn't make.

The drainage from the back of his throat due to his sinuses only further worsened his ill feeling, and with a whimper, he leaned down and grabbed a handful of snow. It was hard to move his hand but in no time, he threw his head back and was downing handful upon handful of the cold, melting white. His tongue felt like sandpaper but he paid it no mind.

The boy sighed, throwing more back into his mouth. He must've been doing that for minutes on end before he heard the voice.

Strong, commanding...

...Russian.

The boy froze in place, everything running in his mind rapidly. He didn't know what it said, it being in the native tongue of his attacker, but he didn't have to hear it to know it wasn't something he wanted to know. This was it. This was his death. This was time for his life to end.

Shutting his eyes, the boy gasped for breath and whimpered, especially as he felt the man grip his hair and rip him from the snow. He had a sense to reach for his gun, but the man was atop him, overpowering him...if he reached for it he'd be shot. Maybe...maybe there was some form of hope left...

They said something in Russian. The boy kept on whimpering, his eyes shut, though his whines grew louder when he shook his hair, fist still gripping the messy, matted blond clump.

The man above him let out a tut.

"Name." He commanded, in German. His accent, even on the one word, was atrocious. But he didn't care.

He said his immediately, voice barely above a whisper.

"So you're a German." The voice said, distain clear in their mouth. It was not a question.

"Yes." He had no point in denying it.

"Give me a reason I shouldn't kill you right now."

The boy began to panic.

"I- I've a child, and- and my family- I'm the caregiver- my pet- my mom- she- it- we-" He had no child. Nor pet. Nor family. He only had himself, though that was truthfully what scared him.

The man seemed to tighten his grip, and the boy felt his arms go slack, non-existent tears falling down his cheeks as he sobbed. He wanted to go home. Mom. Dad. Please. Take him away from here. Wake him up from this place.

Hold him.

Mom.

Dad.

He's having a nightmare, please, help him.

It's dark, he wants to sleep in their bed tonight. He wants to hide underneath the covers and feel their warmth.

But there was no warmth from Mom and Dad here.

"It's a shame." The man gently tapped the boy's forehead. He was only seventeen. "They'll learn to live without you."

Before the boy could speak he was silenced by the shot of a gun, and he fell onto the snow, mouth agape and his eyes huge and wide open.

The young soldier stared down at the limp body of the boy, only two years younger than him. He let out a tut and glanced over the world around him. Cold, alone, desolate and full of forested area.

A voice called from beyond the trees. "What happened?"

"Nothing, just a German." The soldier called back, trudging forward. He'd been here long enough that the sight of such a body was completely desensitized to him, even if he was the one to have caused it. "Stay there, I'll be there in a moment." He said, and continued away from the lifeless corpse of the boy.

What had been his name? The soldier let out a hum of disapproval. Whatever it was, he would not deal with another day.

Though maybe the boy was one of the lucky ones of the war, the black haired boy stopped for a second. He collected his thoughts as he pondered, glancing over his shoulder. He'd begun to regret asking the German for his name. But he truly was a lucky one, he figured; he no longer had to deal with it all.

The stress of if he'd live another day.

The worry of if he'd see his family again.

Everything.

But now was not the time to think about the boy. The animals would tend to him. The man turned on his heel and continued through the snow, heading back to where he had been with the other soldiers and nurses. The boy was just another number to him, a tally, and that's all he would forever now be.

As the boy laid in bed, he felt hot tears fall from his red cheeks. He was cold. He wanted Mama. Papa. All his siblings again.

It was so long ago. So many years had passed since them all, but he couldn't get them out of his mind. Otto. Ludwig. James. Karl. Hannes. Konrad.

His mind remained on the boy.

He wanted him back. He didn't care if he was an enemy anymore

He wanted everyone back.

He just wanted to look brave, like the older soldiers always had been. Their cold, unmoving gazes, the cigars and cigarettes that would hang from their chapped lips; he wanted to be like them. He needed to be like them! But then why was he so upset? The boy was merely another step on the pathway to achieving his dream.

It was one thing to see a corpse, it was another to cause one.

Gasping for breath, the boy sat up and put his knees to his chest, burying his face into them as he let out stifled, quiet sobs in the dark of the night. The apartment he was in was cold, and cramped, and dank.

Mom.

Dad.

It's another nightmare again. Please wake him up.

Please.

Wake him up.


End file.
